A couple of weeks ago, I submitted to my editor the second part of a three-part novel I have been working on for the last year. In the meantime and while I am waiting to get my edits back, I have been polishing up some essays for other publications and also taking this time to read some things that I wouldn’t usually dive into while I’m working on the novel. I am going back and reading some essays from favorite writers. Even though I call myself an essayist and novelist, the word essay still triggers in me memories of the belabored papers and exam questions I was obligated to write in high school and college. They are not fond memories. Putting those memories aside, the genre of creative nonfiction, in particular, narrative essay, holds some intense rich and satiating literature. This is a forum where many of the guardrails come off; where writers have some different breadth to reveal to us what is in their minds and lodged in their spirits. I think of Barry Lopez, Joan Didion, R. W. Emerson, Loren Eiseley, and Terry Tempest Williams — to highlight some of the giants. I would also call out David Sedaris and Jenny Lawson in that group within the humor phase of the spectrum. But the essayist that inspired me to sit down and write this is Annie Dillard. I picked up a copy of her more recent compilation, “The Abundance,” last year. I am rereading it this week. Dillard is one of those writers that will awe and thrill you with her prose as if it were new and fresh each time. Her depth and skill are astounding. She articulates her inner workings and her observations like no other is doing now. If you haven’t read good essay, do yourself a favor and find some, read it, and let it inspire you — or at least allow it to speak to those deepest parts tucked within you. And if you haven’t read Dillard's essays, start there.